


An Honest Man

by vibesandwonders



Series: We Deserve a Soft Epilogue My Love [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Destiel - Freeform, Domestic Fluff, Established Castiel/Dean Winchester, Established Relationship, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Romance, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, in this house we ignore the finale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-15
Updated: 2021-03-15
Packaged: 2021-03-24 01:00:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,111
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30064245
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vibesandwonders/pseuds/vibesandwonders
Summary: A proposal, in more ways than one.“This does not qualify as a chick-flick moment?”Dean rolls his eyes, waits only a half a moment, his heart pounds in his ears.“Nah, but this might.” Another box from another pocket, this one smaller, plain and wooden. He pushes it into Cas’ hand a mix of shy and insistent.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Series: We Deserve a Soft Epilogue My Love [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2199549
Comments: 3
Kudos: 67





	An Honest Man

**Author's Note:**

> Technically this goes amongst my collection of  
> Post-canon ficlets, (IE my story: Amen, OR literally any other where Castiel is saved and happy with Dean)
> 
> So if you like this one, feel free to read the others, I'm sure there will be more

**December 24**

They pull up outside the house, Baby's tires crackling across the gravel.Dean turns the engine off, makes no move to get out.

Somehow Cas expected this; he's been a watcher for a long time, patience is not a new concept (unless it's in regards to removing Dean's clothing, but that's honestly beside the point,) he listens to the soft pops of the engine as it settles and waits.

Lights glow from most of the windows, Claire and Kaia had made their excuses and headed back, _after_ present opening and the obligatory second round of Christmas Eve dinner; possibly (definitely) timed after Dean said something about putting in a movie and finding himself some stretchier pants.

She and Kaia have a hunt in the morning, both Cas and Dean gently proud of how long she had stayed.

Dean recognizes a familiar jittery hesitance at such open domesticity. He appreciates that she even showed up,

Unknowingly, Jack had followed them; eager to spend more time with his prickly older adopted(chosen) sibling, whether she wished it or not.

Cas watched their interaction carefully; noting that Dean was also pretending not to notice; their two charges had spent very little time in each other’s company prior to the new normal of holidays in the bunker with Sam and Eileen.

At first, Claire seemed as though she was going to argue about the nephil unashamedly inviting himself, but she caught Kaia’s careful look, softened and nodded.

Dean had smiled down at the food he was snacking on and started humming _In the Light, t_ rack 06 on the mixtape,

Now, Dean’s hand remains tightly clasped in the Angel’s as they sit in the silence.

Ever since this morning when they woke; the hunter had gone no less than five minutes without some form of physical contact.

Cas could feel the underlying anxiety needling off the hunter’s soul all throughout the day and chose very carefully to wait until Dean decides himself, to bring it up.

Of Course, being Dean, that means he had gone through the Christmas Eve festivities with their family, found family, and whatever hunters were within driving distance, with his usual good-natured banter and only the barest hint of unease.

12 years as Dean Winchester's best friend, and 3 months as his... whatever they were (Sam said boyfriends, Dean retorted that they were _not_ in high school) meant Cas knew a little bit about how to handle the man sitting nervously next to him.

“I’ve been thinking.” Dean starts suddenly, anxiously, interrupting the Angel's contemplation.

“A dangerous hobby.” Cas responds, surprising a chuckle out of Dean.

“Yeah, yeah, I know.” He plays with the keys still in the ignition, “You know, we have a lot of extra bedrooms. And uh, you’re pretty above average for an ex-angel…”

“Fallen.” Cas corrects, though less fallen in the strictest sense and more of a vague, sloping descent toward a certain green-eyed mortal.

Dean frowns but continues.

“There are a lot of kids out there that aren’t all quite human, like Jack and Kaia, Sam and uh, Emma.”

Cas feels Dean’s unresolved guilt over that single name like a punch to the gut.They’ve only talked about her once. Sam told the rest privately with a deep and unforgiving regret, one that Castiel isn’t sure will ever truly heal.

“Most of the time, they don’t have anywhere to go. And everyone thinks they’re monsters, or created them just to use them, and nobody,” He says firmly. “ _Nobody_ should have to grow up like that.”

He swallows, and taps his fingers on the steering wheel. “Uh, I just know that Sonny, well he gave me a chance when I was a kid… and we have the space, and uh, a lot of extra bedrooms.”

“So you said.” Cas murmurs.

“And the coffee shop is doing great, and we've always got a backlist of cars in for repair— and I was thinking maybe, we could teach the kids— you know, a trade and shit, you could teach them how to grow stuff… and Sam could help em’ learn to control the junk that makes 'em different, and uh, grow up with a family that gets it. Not like, to train 'em all into hunters but like… just be safe.” He tilts his head slightly and stares hard out the windshield. “What do you— uh, what do you think?”

Dean doesn’t turn, his posture nervous and eager.

“I think it would be a worthy legacy Dean Winchester.” He replies, filled with a sudden sense of pride over the man next to him.

“Have you spoken with Sam about it?”

Dean shakes his head, “Nah, you first. I uh, I wanted to see what you… what your thoughts were.”

Cas smiles at his profile and settles comfortably into the seat.

“As with my life, I would like to share this endeavor with you, if you’re asking.”

Dean’s head jerks shakily, he sighs, mildly relieved, but the sense of antipathy remains, vibrating low along their bond.

Cas waits, he can feel the growing tension in the small space. The leather seat whines, breaking both the silence and the nervous energy,Dean turns to look at him, facial expression screaming his silent internal struggle: his eternal fight with words, with vulnerability.

“I’m not leaving.” 

Cas says it simply, directly; answering the unspoken question that’s been on Dean’s mind all day.

He deflates like a balloon, waits only a moment before leaning (falling) sideways, until his head rests on the angel’s shoulder. 

“I know.” He replies gruffly, like he hadn't been working up his courage to even bring it up all day.

Cas makes a noncommittal noise, presses a kiss to the top of his head, shifting them until he can comfortably wrap his arm around Dean’s waist.

“It has been bothering you all day hasn’t it?”

Dean’s breathing slows to match Cas’ their chests rising and falling to a gentle cadence. They can see Claire and Kaia laughing through the open window, it looks like Jack has hauled out the ancient game system Dean found at a garage sale.

A warm feeling settles over Dean’s person, safety, contentment. Odd and unfamiliar in his life; still so strange even in the past few months.

This, _this_ terrifies him more than any monster they'd fight.

Fighting to _survive_ is one thing, fighting to _live,_ now that's a whole different concept.

“Yeah.” He answers, his heartbeat is fast through paper skin. Cas’ thumb traces across Dean’s knuckles.

“If it has been causing you discomfort, why didn’t you say something?”

“I don’t know.” Dean says awkwardly, honestly, tiredly, “Didn’t think it mattered enough, I already knew the answer, I was just...” He shrugs.

Cas watches lazy snowflakes drift. Soft and unique.

“ _You_ matter." Cas informs matter-of-factly, "So this does.”

Dean makes a noncommittal noise in his throat, not trusting his words in the moment. The concept is new: worries being addressed and understood, being loved without parameters or expectations. It makes him feel shaky to his core.

“Will you talk about it now?” Cas asks, knowing Dean doesn’t want to. Talking about his feelings openly, is not his way. _But_ , they’re still sitting in the car, he hasn’t started screaming or marched away in a raging huff.

_He’s trying._

“I might.”

They sit for a moment, Cas leans and rolls down the window a smidge, enjoying the tactile nature of a hand crank; the slight breath of crisp winter air. He remembers vaguely something Dean had said a long time ago, about taking little things for granted and offering a personal anecdote about being surprised that _'windchimes are there just to remind you that the world is music too'_ (it hadn’t made sense then either) but, Dean had been clearly proud of his little foray into the whimsical and Cas was too new to being near Dean to distrust anything he said.

Cas wonders now, if _this_ is being human: Sitting in cars after dark in below freezing temperatures because your partner (boyfriend) never learned how to talk about his feelings.

Maybe he just likes rolling down his own window. Being mostly human is occasionally needlessly complicated.

Dean’s utterly oblivious, still looking out the windshield at _his_ house.

Cas has been sleeping in _his_ house— in _his_ bed— every night for nearly 3 months.

The angel has his own side table now; (un)surprisingly cluttered. The drawers are never closed completely; at least 4 books lay half read on top. All gifted bookmarks ignored in favor of scavenged leaves or various, mostly flat, household items (most noticeably a kitchen knife with a smidgen of jelly still smeared) to Dean’s casual outrage.

Dean's even cordoned off a whole section of the closet for him, they work on filling it up a little every weekend. This has led to the discovery that Dean has an unhealthy fascination with thrift stores, which even Sam finds unexpected.

They have also adopted four new succulents; there’s been talk of starting a garden in spring, maybe a couple of beehives ( _apiaries,_ the angel corrected with a sigh so world-weary that Dean made it his personal goal to only say beehives, ever.)

Cas informed him yesterday at breakfast that he would like to own goats, 'perhaps a chicken or two.'

Perhaps a chicken... _or two_. 

Dean hadn't said a word, sat the coffee mug down in front of his boyfriend (partner) and proceeded to drink his own in silence.

Sure, Dean's _less_ enthused about the concept, but not wholly opposed, and already warming to idea, which has become apparently a standard response to most ideas Cas throws out in regards to their life now.

_Their_ house. _Their_ garden. _Their_ chicken... or two.

_Their_ life.

He shifts in the seat nervously, steels his nerves and pulls out a box. The wrapping paper is rumpled; the bow has the look of something that’s been smashed under other objects for extended periods of time.

“It’s for you.” Dean adds, unnecessarily. A tight, nervous smile on his lips.

Cas tugs Dean closer to his side so he can maneuver around him with both hands. 

“Was gonna give it to you back, you know, before… doesn’t matter, just open it.”

Cas takes his time, feeling Dean’s impatience and completely ignoring it. _bastard_. He’s the type that folds his wrapping paper, Dean shreds it blissfully, it takes all kinds.

He lifts off the lid finally.

Dean watches him run his fingers across the simple key and shrugs, “House key: my way of asking you to stay, casual right?”

Cas chuckles and turns it over with his long fingers, it’s unadorned except a thin layer of light blue rubber around the top.

“This does not qualify as a ‘chick-flick’ moment?” He teases.

Dean rolls his eyes, waits only a half a moment, his heart pounds in his ears.

“Nah, but this might.” Another box from another pocket, this one smaller, plain and wooden. He pushes it into Cas’ hand a mix of shy and insistent.

Cas’ hands pause for a long moment, they tremble very slightly, taking a breath to place the key in a safe place; he pushes at the hinge, it flips open with a snap.

“Jack helped… Um.” Dean pulls one of the gleaming rings out and fidgets with it. “It’s the uh, the same material as your angel blades are uh, made them out of the first one you gave me.” He looks up to find Cas staring, the angel’s eyes filled with something that shouldn’t fit inside someone finite, his words begin to stutter nervously.

“Sam and I, we talked about finding somebody, who uh who knows the life. Honestly, I didn’t think we were gonna make it out alive this last time.” He sighs speaking to the dash.“Last year, I got this _taste_ , a glimpse, of what you and me looked like and… well _fuck_ Cas. It was one of the best weeks of my whole damn life. But then, all the other shit happened and this whole year, God, I couldn’t get it out of my head— what if you loving me is what ripped you apart?”

He taps the box softly, still not looking up into Cas’ face, still intimidated by what he saw there, “ _But_ , you always said, that I uh, that I deserved to be happy,” He chews his lips and sighs. “But you never explained how the hell I was supposed to do that without you…” He hears a shaky breath and looks up. “Something wrong?”

Cas gasps through wet eyes and shakes his head. His eyes glued to the rings in the box, uncomprehending.

“You know what it means right?” Dean asks all gruff and gentle together, his lips quirk, “First, you made me the righteous man, now you’ll have to make me an honest one.”

He grins, unrepentantly pleased at his own cheesy line, calloused thumbs reaching up and brushing the tears out of the Angel’s eyes; Castiel’s joy is incandescent, it might be their bond but Dean’s pretty sure he’s glowing faintly.

“Dean, are you asking me to be a Winchester?”

“ _Yep_ , on Christmas Eve, like a sap.” He runs his hand through his hair. “I mean, you’re already practically a Winchester, but yeah, I _guess_ , like, _my_ Winchester.” He’s not sure where he’s going with that, his ears are already getting damn warm. “You don’t… you don’t have to say anything if you’re not—“

“Dean. I know.”

“Mmhmm.” He laughs nervously, relieved that Cas cut him off, and plays with the ring box.

“You haven’t asked me anything, actually.”

Dean shifts back out of Cas’ arms, “You’re really gonna make me say it?”

The Angel nods seriously, amusement in his eyes.

“Will you marry me Cas?” He shrugs, “I’d get down on one knee but it’s damn cold and my knees are shot, I’m not sure if I’d be able to get back up.”

* * *

**Heaven**

Cas takes a breath, he hasn’t been this nervous in a long time. He raises his hand and knocks. The door opens a moment later,

“Hello Mary.” He says, she tilts her head in an entertaining facsimile of his own, clearly trying to evaluate the tone of his news by his body language.

“Castiel.” She greets uncertainly, “Didn’t think you did house calls.” A brief stab of fear, “Are my boys okay?”

* * *

The awkward silence had only grown since he had assured her of Sam and Dean’s safety. Mary Winchester, formidable even in paradise, had allowed him into her home and immediately offered coffee.

Well, actually she offered whiskey first. Dean was definitely her son.

“So you and Dean.” She hands him a mug, “You finally talked?”

He hadn’t quite worked up his courage, before she speaks carefully, eyes on her coffee cup, She marks his surprise and offers a very victorious smirk. 

“I mean, I had an idea that you two… you were… _sweet,_ on each other. My son, he thinks he’s better at hiding things that he actually is.”

She’s being generous, their history is complicated, ribboned and bloody though oddly unified on their desire to protect two particular boys.

He half-nods, words sticking, Mary watches the way he fidgets with the band of bright metal on his finger. Her eyebrows bridge in amusement and sudden understanding.

“Who popped the question?” She asks wryly.

His shoulders sag with relief, words rushing out in haste. “Dean did— he, he, he asked me to be his…” He struggles for the right word.

“Husband.” She supplies, old-fashioned like that, mouth warm around the word.

He nods, thankful. “Yes, _husband_. But I felt— I felt as though I should tell you first, and ask your forgiveness, and then your permission.”

“Dean know you’re here?”

He nods. “He knows I am here to tell you the news, he does not know that your answer will affect the outcome.” He swallows. “I did not expect him to desire a union in this way or I would have already come." His smile is intensely fond, if rueful. "I would not, I _will not_ go against your wishes, Mary Winchester, mother of the man I love.”

His eyes dart up briefly, she’s unreadable.

“You haven’t told him yes?”

“I told him that I wished to see you first…”

“Bet he took that well.” She snorts, “It’s human custom to ask the father for permission.”

He searches for the right words, hoping they will make sense, and not offend too terribly,

“What I know of John Winchester— what I have _seen_ in Dean’s memories— of the scars your son bears.” His jaw tightens. “His permission is not something I seek in this matter. However, _you_ are the Matriarch of the family and Dean… agreed with my logic." He adds quickly, "And I am visiting Bobby after this.” 

Castiel could swear that he hears a chuckle, but when he looks up at her, she’s blank once more.

He stares at his hands, and waits.

“You think you’ll make him happy? Soulmates?” Her voice sounds skeptical, he knows her story too well to misunderstand the bitterness toward fated love.

He frowns, this isn’t going well. Perhaps he should have spent more time rehearsing it with Eileen.

“Well, I do not have a soul, to start.” He answers, matter-of-fact. “No, I do not believe that we are destined. I believe we have chosen each other; chosen our _family_ over and over… we, we made it up as we went along.”

Bolder now he looks up at the formidable mother, willing himself to remember that he has faced down gods and entities with far less concern.

“I believe— actually," He snorts in a surprisingly human manner, "I _know,_ I will anger him, and he _will_ frustrate me, and despite that we will choose to forgive one another. He— Dean has, he is…" He trails off and shakes his head, 

"I will endeavor to be the _best—_ ” He feels the emotion well inside him and he stops. “I can _promise_ you this: I will love him until I am no more And probably beyond that, if I have my way.”

He meets her eyes evenly, blue and infinite, and she wonders if anyone has ever disbelieved him when he looks like this.

“I guess angels really were always watching over him.” She murmurs.

“One. In particular.”

She chuckles, smiles a wide easy smile and nods once.

“Tell my sons that I love them. Tell Dean…” She sniffs and wipes her eye casually. “Tell him to take lots of pictures of the wedding for me.” She stands, “Come on, let’s go see Bobby, can’t wait to see his face."

**Author's Note:**

> So here we go,  
> I don't even have TIME to go into how badly they did both Sam and Dean and Emma wrong so, my little line will have to suffice.
> 
> I am cringe but I am free ya know?


End file.
